The Instructor
by Blainy Kid
Summary: For one reason or another -who knows why these things happen to him, really?- Harry Potter finds himself sent back through time and space to a bizarre 1974. After a bit of a struggle to get things sorted out, he somehow becomes a substitute teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And Bellatrix Black is a student there... Oh dear. Details in chapter 1 author's notes.
1. Intrigue on the horizon

**Instructor**

A story of intrigue.

AN: Hello, ladies and gents. Considering this is my first work of writing, I do hope you have mercy upon me in your reviews. Or don't. I wouldn't mind. Anyways, this story will be Hellatrix centered and will contain explicit language and sexually suggestive themes. For the sake of safety, I've set the rating to M. Also, please note before you chop my head off with a Shia Labeouf-signed hatchet that for this story (and possibly others) I've set the birth years of the Marauders, Bellatrix, Severus, Lily, Lucius and Rodulphus to 1959, so that may all be fifth years when Harry starts teaching.

Thanks for reviewing!

Pain. Pain, like he'd never known, surged through every fiber of his being. His bones felt like they repeatedly shattering and mending themselves inside his body. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought he was taking a swim in a pool of boiling hot water right after he'd skinned himself.

Suddenly, the pain stopped.

Got to love whoever invented the Cruciatus curse.

He managed to crack open an eye, and saw what looked like the hem of black silk robes not a foot from his face. Voldemort's voice had always sounded like that of an enchanted harp, playing tunes that were charming and inviting, trustworthy, even. He supposed that was a snake's ultimate tactic, to lure you in with its charm, and then lock its jaw into your neck while its venom worked its magic. Voldemort working his magic. Heh.

The bastard spoke, with his ever-present air of superiority "Harry, Harry, Harry. Have you learned nothing of our past encounters? Never let your guard down. That's the lesson Dumbledore should have taught you years ago."

"As if that'd do anyone any good. Lucius Malfoy didn't let his guard down. Neither did Snape. The same goes for all three Lestranges. In the end, you still stabbed them in the back. That's what you are, Tom. A back-stabbing coward who will never know the meaning of love and trust." The raven-haired man replied, his throat burning with the effort of merely speaking. Voldemort's Cruciatus had always felt worse than any of his followers'.

"Oh dear, it seems poor Albus has been remiss in teaching you manners too. Honestly, Harry, it's been years, my friend, and I do believe it's time we settle this once and for all. I shall ask you for the last time." He asked as he knelt in front of the downed nineteen-year-old. There was a surprisingly honest and regretful inflection in the Dark Lord's tone as if he really wished for the well-being of the young man before him.

"Will join me, or will you perish?"

Harry finally managed to get himself to his knees, and looked straight at Voldemort's unblinking red eyes.

"I'd rather spend an eternity burning in hell than stand by your side."

Voldemort sighed with what might have, on anyone else's face, looked like regret. On him, it just looked like the usual sneer available only to life-long Slytherins. "Your words pain me, Harry. I'd hoped that one day, you'd see sense. That you'd value your own life and the lives of your loved ones a bit more. I will never understand you Gryffindors." the supposed defeater of Death crouched in front of Harry, and before the young man could reach for wand in the back pocket of his trousers, he felt the constricting ropes of an **_Incarcerous_**wrap around his body. Fruitlessly, he strained against the magical ropes, while the Dark Lord merely bared his sharp teeth in a facsimile of a smirk. "I am afraid, my young friend, that I cannot grant your wish of an eternity in the pits of Tartarus. You see, Harry, your prophecy -OUR prophecy- is too literal in its meaning. '**_Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives._****'**Do you know what that means? It means that only you have the actual physical capability of killing me, and the same goes the other way around. That makes the two of us almost true immortals, young man. Someone other than I could literally decapitate you, and while it would still hurt greatly, you'd be able to just pick your head up and go St. Mungo's to reattach it."

At that, Harry's jaw almost fell to the floor, if it weren't for his lack of trust in Voldemort not to shove his wand down his throat. Finally, he mustered enough computational capability in his brain to utter a few words "You can't be serious! That can't be real!"

"Oh but it is, my friend. Prophecies tend to go by the letter, and in most cases, no matter what _anyone_ does, other than one of the subjects committing suicide, they always come true. Now I know you'd really love to wish me well in hell, but I'd very much like to keep our dual immortality intact. If I kill you right now, I lose that protection, anyone can just walk up and _Avada _on the spot, and we can't have that now, can we? So here's what I propose. I've come upon a wonderful bit of magic. A ritual that would rid me of this conundrum. You, dear Harry, will be sent off to an alternate world, where I will never hear of your name again, and may or may not hear of mine. Who knows? Inter-dimensional travel can be fascinating. You may even, encounter a female version of me, or a world in which I never existed. Oh, the endless possibilities!"

A sense of discomfort was meanwhile rising in the young Gryffindor's chest, almost as if a balloon was slowly being blown whilst resting between his lungs. "You'll never get away with this Tom. Dumbledore will find me. You're not the only one knowledgea-" Harry was surprised to find that his voice was gone. He screamed and yelled at the snake-like _creature _in front of him, but to no avail.

"_Silencio. _Tut tut, Harry." Voldemort chided as if reprimanding a four-year-old. "You should save your breath. I have a feeling you're going to need for your journey." He got up to his feet so quickly, Harry could swear he felt a breeze brush by him. "Now I suppose I might as well get to business."

"Fuck you!" Harry soundlessly spat. The Dark Lord merely smiled and conjured an ornate-looking silver dagger from an unseen pocket in his robes, and decisively sliced into his left palm with it. He squeezed the injured extremity into a tight fist, holding above Harry's head, whilst muttering incantations which might have vaguely sounded like Ancient Greek had Harry paid more attention in his magical theory classes. By the time Voldemort was done, Harry's face was drenched in a fine crimson sheen of blood, and for some odd reason, Voldemort was out of breath.

"Well, that wasn't fun." Voldemort gasped, a weird-looking tinge of yellow marring his sickly-white skin. He stepped forward, and withdrew harry's wand, then secured it into the left breast-pocket of his shirt. "Here's your wand, dear boy. Wouldn't want you going without it, now do we? Who _knows _what dangers you might encounter?"

The uncomfortable feeling in Harry's chest had by this point grown into full-blown rage directed at Voldemort, at Dumbledore, at himself, at the world, and even at any and all deities in all of existence for letting this happen. _**I've been through so much. Why can't I just live in peace? Why can't I just kill the bad guy and sit back and relax? Why does the universe hate me so bloody much?**_

And then, some sort of light started piercing through the dirt and grass between the rivals. At first, it looked like it was so thin, a fly was bigger than it, but steadily, it grew to what looked like a man-sized hole in the ground, a sot of breeze slowly building in strength along with the hole's size.

"A few things before you leave, Harry. No matter what anyone's ever said about me, I never intended for things to end up as they had. I wasn't a murderer, nor was I a classist racist with an obsession of avoiding Death at all costs. I'd simply wanted power and wealth. Those were the only two things I'd wanted because as a child, they were the only things I lacked that people simply rubbed in my face, simply because they _could_. Yes, I know I could have gone a far different way about it, or merely gone on with my life, content with what I managed to get through honest work, but a _wise_ man once told me, if I want something, I should be ready to do everything I could to get it. I should be ready to do the unthinkable to get it. So I was, and I did. That man was Dumbledore." Harry's eyes widened in shock, as the current of the wind picked up, somehow affecting only him and the blades of grass around him. "That's right, Harry. Voldemort is not the innocent senile fool everyone believes him to be. He's as manipulative as the finest Slytherin, if not more so. Just keep that bit in mind." Finally, the sun was setting, giving off a peaceful hue of orange the likes of which Harry had never seen. Figured he'd lose everything on such beautiful evening. Fate was nothing if not an ironic bitch to him. Voldemort crouched low again, once more getting to eye level with Harry. "Remember Harry, you could be more. Oh you could be so much more. You, my friend, have the potential to rise so high, Merlin himself would cower before. I see it in you, in the hard look in your eyes, in the fire in your soul. I greatly regret that I'll never see who you'll become one day. Have a safe journey."

With that, the harsh winds of the ritual suddenly turned into what felt like a tornado, and Harry was swept with a great force into the hole of light, and then all, went quiet.

Voldemort stepped back, the yellow tinge still stuck on his visage. "Shame." he muttered to himself and looked toward the horizon for but a second before he dropped to the ground.

* * *

AN: Updated to correct multiple grammar and spelling mistakes. Sorry, folks.


	2. Of strange places and stranger times

AN: "Hello everybody, this is now a bank robbery!" said the burly big guy resembling Killer Mike of Run the Jewels just a tad too much. I truly have no I idea why, but I simply felt an all encompassing urge to drop that bit of not-even-trivia on you in lieu of a proper greeting. Deal with it. In other, more fanfiction-related, news, I'd like to apologize to you all for the utter idiocy that I exhibited by uploading the first chapter of this story _without_ doing the due-diligence of actually replacing my personal notes with the appropriate information. As in, actually typing the word **_Incarcerous _**and the two lines of the HP-Voldemort prophecy I needed. Many thanks to the guest reviewer who pointed my stupidity out to me. I humbly ask for your forgiveness. Anyway, I'd like to move on to actually writing this out now, so a bit of news first. I'm confused as to whether I should try to simulate events that occur in some of my favorite fics. Since I'm considering that option, I do believe it's only fair I offer anyone out there the chance to recommend ideas. I don't in any way promise to use your ideas, and I'll PM you about them if I'm actually considering using them, and I need further elaboration.

Enjoy what three months of isolation and two and half weeks of partially procrastinated philosophy and Arabic test prep have brought forth.

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**Of strange places and stranger times.**

Pain. So much pain. Harry had a vague sense of odd companionship with that one guy in that American sci-fi film about the slightly depressed father with a remote control to control life itself. He thought to himself, much like that one guy said to himself "**Wow **I just got a big headache!". But headaches were for those who could afford having them. Harry did not.

With bangs as loud as the firing of cannons ringing in his ears, he sat up onto his knees, and took a look around him. He was surrounded by dark stone walls, two of them to be exact. It seemed as though he was in a long corridor, the walls on either side of him lined with torches. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but for some reason or another, the raven-haired wizard felt a sort of warmth inside his chest, a sense of familiarity with the torches, the floor beneath his feet and the very mold covering small areas of the stone walls by his sides. He checked himself for his wand, and found it in his left breast pocket. It wouldn't do to dilly dally. Wherever he was, he needed to get back home. There was still a murderous bastard on the loose, aiming to rule the bloody world and commit genocide.

He took a good look at his surroundings, and noticed not only the fact that he was still breathing, but that he wasn't in some random fiery hellscape like he'd expected when Voldemort's words had first sunk in. He was in what looked like a castle. Or rather, what looked like the corridor leading to the Slytherin common room.

_'Why would he send me to Hogwarts? A mistake? He does't **make** mistakes.'_

With a few tentative steps, the raven-haired wizard started making his way toward the staircase leading up to the Quad. The castle may have been declared unsuitable for habitation, but judging by the still intense pressure he could still feel at his navel, the anti-apparition wards haven't wavered in the slightest in the years since the Day Hogwarts Fell.

Suddenly there a a flash of light behind him, and Harry sprung around, palming his wand from his breast pocket mid turn, only to find a dazzled-looking Dumbledore staring at him, with Fawkes perched on his shoulder and his beard a bit of sandy blond still making its way through the white of his beard and hair. His robes were a deep purple with shining yellow stars and crescent moons floating gently on them, and in his hand was what looked eerily reminiscent of the Elder wand, trained on Harry.

"Hello. I'm Headmaster Dumbledore. And whom, exactly, you might you be?"

"Um... Dumbledore? It's me. Harry. Don't you recognize me?"

In a second, the aged wizard's expression went from dazzled to focused, with his eyebrows burrowing down in-between his eyes, before quickly returning to a more natural position upon his face, his eyes widening only a slight bit, his pupils visible expanding, taking Harry in for all he was physically worth, curiosity apparently piqued. "I'm sorry, but I personally know of no Harry that might think to contact me, let alone intrude upon my castle without invite, nor accompaniment."

"The fuck?" Confusion was apparently going to be the highlight of the day, Harry thought. '_It's been a while since I've had this particular leisure.'_

"Tell you what, mister...?"

"Potter. Harry Potter" _'__Bloody hel,l I sound like Bond of all people. Should've taken that cold medicine like Hermione'd said.'_

"Mister Potter, Fawkes here seems to trust you, otherwise he would have already made an attempt on your life, or at least your eyes" The young phoenix chose that moment to fluff his wings and chirp a with what sound like a cooing sound, fiery feathers and all. "How about we retreat too my office and we can continue this conversation there, without the probable intrusion of curious young ears."

_'Students? The fuck is going on in this bitch?'_ "Ooookayyy..."

Excellent.

* * *

"Lemon drop, Harry? May I call you Harry?"

"Umm, no, and yes of course." To be honest, Harry was still extremely perplexed to see young students running about the Quad, with two professors staring at him quizzically as he followed along Dumbledore's steps. What was especially odd for him was the fact that he couldn't recognize anyone he saw on the way, other than a McGonagall that looked twenty years younger than she should have been. He still wasn't sure why the man thought the Quad would make a good detour on the way to his office, but he knew he always had machinations within machinations set in place for all kinds of situations, so he didn't worry himself too much about it.

Dumbledore motioned toward a rather comfy armchair in front of his desk that Harry couldn't for the life of him remember seeing there before and said "Well, please then, do have a seat."

As he sat down, he saw his teacher and friend step toward his Pensieve chamber and lower the glamour he had on it. "Harry, I feel like there are things I should know about you, and as much as I trust Fawkes's gut, I cannot leaver anything to chance when it comes to my students and their safety. If you would please."

Well this was just getting weirder and weirder. "Sir? You can't be serious!" The look in the old man's eyes said otherwise though. "Oh, you have **got** to be joking with me! It's me, Harry Potter. You **know **me! You've known me since I was a baby! You taught my bloody parents!" He yelled at his teacher, but the man stare remained ever sharp.

"I am afraid I've never heard of any currently living Potters other Charlus and Dorea, and I certainly know that their only son too young to be your age, although, the resemblance **is **uncanny. I'm sure this will al be resolved shortly, once I've seen your memories."

"What do you mean Charlus and Dorea? and what's that about being too young? Oh for the love of- you actually have gone mad, haven't you? **F****ine**! Which memories do you need?" Harry asked, his patience running thin for the first time since the day he almost cut Ron's nose off.

"All of them."

"All of them."

"Yes, all of them."

"You do realize this will take hours, right? I know how Pensieve works, remember?"

"That's quite alright, being headmaster allows me certain privileges, I'm quite happy to say. I will make for you as much time as it takes."

"You'd better be getting me a Halloween feast for lunch then, I've always hated this thing." Harry grumbled, reaching for the bowl of lemon drops and taking a fistful of them, before stalking angrily toward the Pensieve cabinet. He looked like a petulant child and he knew it, but if Dumbledore saw fit to mess with him like this on an already long and stressful day, then he wasn't going to make it easy for him.

* * *

Well that was fun, eh? I was planning on making this chapter longer than this, probably closer to double the word count, but now my butt is numb, my lofi playlist is almost at its end, and my arms feel leaden, and I know I won't finish this if I don't upload it right now and go to bed.

AN: In my head canon, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents Antoine Triplett of Agents Of S.H.I.E.L.D. has somehow (probably because of FitzSimmons, the mad bastards) found out about the magical world, was spared by the MACUSA, found the oppressive approach of American wizards to be too much for even him and decided to move to Britain, where he joined Harry and the Order Of The Phoenix. In 2005. While being a simple muggle. Because I **am **insane. Also, why do I confuse Harry screaming at Dumbledore with Fitz screaming at the Monolith in AOS's beginning of season 3?


	3. A figurative fuck

AN: Oh, what's this, two updates less than 48 hours apart? Bet ya didn't see this coming! To the kind Guest reviewer who''s gone ahead decided it's alright to declare my writing as "not good", please refrain from saying that my chapters are 300 words long. They're not. They're 1 K words long. At least. I just like to write lengthy author's notes because that the most direct way for me to interact with readers, and I hate hiding exposition behind the actual writing. There will be plenty of vague details in my story(ies), and I'd hate to presume everyone can read my mind and tell their origins. In 90% of the **_good _**HP fanfiction I've read, author's notes are predominantly the way authors communicate with their readers. Also, author's notes add character to what people might think of me. Also, I'm a bit of a dick.

Have fun though.

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A figurative fuck

"Oh Lord. I think I might puke." Harry stumbled back, haphazardly throwing himself in the armchair he'd been occupying before he read the Daily Prophet. One that was still crisp, smelling of fresh ink and dated September 2nd, _1974_. Nine-teen-seventy-bloody-four.

"It's alright my boy, it is only natural to feel so overwhelmed when faced with such situations." Albus Dumbledore stated. Harry now knew for a fact that this was't the Dumbledore under which he had studied and trained for fifteen years. He knew deep inside him that this man had never seen his face before that day, but couldn't sop himself of wanting to hug him, seeking solace.

"How can this even be?!" He wondered, his voice breathier and more unsure than he'd have liked. "I mean, I know time turners exist, but they're so limited. I'd heard Nott was working on something more versatile, but's supposed to be at least 10 years away from perfecting the theory, let alone applying it safely." By know he was talking more to himself than to the purple-robed man in the seat across the desk.

"There are things about magic Harry, that far beyond our comprehension. I've seen the charm your Lord Voldemort had used. It is an ancient one, and it hasn't been used for at least eight hundred years for a reason."

"What's that, then?"

"The charm has no name, and it cannot be found in any magical textbook that I know of, be it dark or otherwise, for sole fact that it draws its power from an Obscurial."

"I remember reading about those. You gave me the only sheet of parchment you knew to exist about those. Newt Scamander wrote it, but didn't publish it, you said. He was afraid of someone going after Obscurials, should they find out any are alive." He could see his own reflection in Dumbledore's now twinkling eyes. He looked half-deep in though, which he was, and half mad, which he was probably going to be, very soon.

"It seems I have taught you well enough. Nothing trumps the satisfaction of yet another wise and well informed young mind. Well, maybe some treacle tart would do the trick, under the right circumstances." The man smiled his notorious fox-like smile at Harry, his lips genuinely stretching as the corners lifted themselves a third of the way to his cheekbones.

"I wonder why you've never told me an Obscurial's power could be used like this. You always commended Hermione for he knowledge seeking."

"I suppose I was afraid you'd get the wrong idea into your head, my boy. I've seen your memories, you personally mentioned to my future self that the sorting hat wanted you in Slytherin. Ambition is a powerful motivation, but a dangerous one, even when the endgame serves the greater good. Power like that of an Obscurial corrupts far too easily, and with your natural inclinations, I can honestly say that you would most likely have tried to use that power to turn the tide of your war, and I must have worried for yours and everyone else's safety." The twinkle in Dumbldore's eyes had become so prominent by that pint that Harry was afraid the man would think himself to death. It was either that or he was contemplating how best to attack Harry. He wasn't too worried, since he was the one that taught his Dumbledore how to fight dirty.

"Yeah that makes a lot of sense. Voldemort was getting more more ruthless with every rising sun, and we were becoming more desperate along the way. If push came to shove, we would have tried to do something with that bit of intel had we known about it. Ron and I certainly would have tried it no matter what anyone said, if things got bad enough." Placating him with agreements was probably the best way to avoid an all out duel int headmaster's office, and it wasn't like he was lying, anyway.

"What is most curious the predicament you find yourself in, Harry, is that Tom himself is the one who did this. Why would would he choose to send you back in time when he had the power and the chance to kill you and end your war at last?" Dumbledore asked, brows furrowed and nostrils slightly flared.

_'That was a curious bit...' _"My friend Hermione, you've seen her, the way she seeks knowledge like its Greek nectar. She had a theory. She said that splitting your sould in half like Voldemort was doing cannot possibly have been with a cost. According to her, by the way, I'm double the Voldemort is."

"I'm sorry?"

"Yes, that's what Ron said too. If Hermione's math is correct, and Hermione's math is **_always _**correct, the Tom I left behind has only 0.78 percent of his soul, whereas I have about 1.5 percent of his soul in me. I'm a living Horcrux." The comical level of shock now on the headmasters face was almost too much for Harry. "I mean, I'm still me, but there's also bit of him in me as well. It's why I'm a Parselmouth, I wasn't born like that." Anyway, the theory is that every time Tom created a Horcrux, the splitting of the soul within him shredded away part of what little morality he had in him as well. Now that I know what happened, I can't help but wonder if his sanity was being torn apart along the way."

"That would certainly fit the bill. Self preservation is often one of a Slytherin's to priorities in life. It's a natural part of everyone, be they naturally inclined toward Lord Salazar's was or not, and with Tom's utter devotion to the House Slytherin, the risk he took sending you back is so out of place that the state if his mind has to be questioned."

Harry stood up and meandered toward the fireplace on the right side of the office area. He stared long and deep into the flickering flames, he only light sheltering them from the utter darkness of the night sky outside. He always liked the moon, so it only seemed fitting for it to hide behind the thick clouds on a night during which his life he suspected would be changed forever.

"So now you know my story, and I know how I got here. The question is, how do I get back?"

With a deep frown and a worrying sigh, Dumbledore, for what Harry thought was the first time anyone had been there to notice it, hesitant. "I'm afraid that is impossible. The energies exuded by Obscurials are exclusive to them, kind of like each witch or wizard leaves behind their own unique 'scent'. The only way you'd be able to return to your time would be by finding the same Obscurial Tom had used to send you here, and that may not happen for another twenty-something years, I worry, but most importantly, the ritual to siphon the Obscurials power will almost definitely kill it. It is simply too much for any single being to bear. I've seen through your eyes, my young friend. I've felt what you've felt, thought what you thought. I know you almost as well as you know yourself, and I know you can't bring suffering upon anyone, be they deserving of it or not. I know that you do your best avoid death, even in battle, even though your are its Harbinger, and ts follower. Fate has not been kind o you, and yet you remain kind to those around you. I fear that you will remain here."

"You know, that bloody wisdom of yours really irritates me some times. Don't pity me please. I've had enough of that to last me centuries."

"Oh, heavens no. My boy, I've lived for far too long to still feel pity, when I can look for purpose, for where purpose is, beauty lies just beyond. I'm saddened that my future self never saw fit to speak to you about that particular part of life, although perhaps only the days can jade a soul enough to forget the meaning of pity, so much so, that even suffering can lead to beauty, eventually."

Harry turned around and look back at Dumbledore, whom he found staring almost absentmindedly at his bowl of lemon drops. _'Almost. Preaching about philosophy and yet keeping an eye on any possible action. There he is.' _he thought to himself with an inward smirk. "So, what comes next then, do I spend the rest of my days a shepherd on some faraway Scottish field, seeking beauty through purposelessness only to spite you, or what?"

"Ha! As entertaining as I'm sure that would be for the both of us, I think you have far greater skills at your disposal at the moment my boy. When I said that you were a follower of death, I meant that literally. Yesterday, the corpse of our dear Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Patricia Rakepick, was discovered on the Hogwarts Express when it arrived back in London. It seems she had suffered a fatal heart attack. I'd like for you take the position, at least momentarily whilst I find a more permanent solution."

"I'm sorry?" He wasn't a teacher. He was a soldier, nothing more. His DA days were long behind, and he doubted he could replicate that kind of success with students who didn't trust him. Students he didn't trust back.

"I'm sure that's what Ron would have said. Harry, war isn't an easy thing, I know that without needing to live through someone else's memories, but it teaches you so much that you cannot hope to learn anywhere else. I fully believe that you talents have far greater applications in a classroom than they do in a war zone, and if the smile you had on your face in your fifth year at Hogwarts is of any indication, it's where you belong. Certainly where you've been happiest."

"I don't know. I never thought I'd live to see peaceful times, much less have to fill my time during it. Can I sleep on it? This isn't the kind of decision I could make on the spot like this." _'This is going to be nothing if not interesting.'_

"Of course, and please, feel free to use my personal quarters for the night, I have a feeling you'd want actual solitude, especially tonight."

"Much appreciated, professor." In a moment, Dumbledore was by his fireplace, hand already in the Floo powder in a magenta colored vase sitting atop the rune-decorated mantelpiece. "Where can I find you tomorrow? I can't exactly waltz into class and start hurling curses at Lucius Malfoy."

"Sure you can, my boy. A life spent is a life earned, no?" The twinkle was back, this time with a classical Dumbledorian mirth that made Harry feel like he was back in first year. "Simply make sure you attend breakfast at Great Hall tomorrow, and I'll know your decision, hand you a timetable, and you can easily get started on the practical aspects for the first few days whilst I catch you on the curriculum. I'll keep you an empty seat by my side and some warm treacle tart on your plate."

"You really do know how to sell a damn good bargain."

With a hearty chuckle, Dumbledore finally reached his hand inside the vase and withdrew it a second later.

"Now, if that will be all?" Harry nodded, seeing no reason to keep the man from his affairs, even if it was seven o'clock at night. "Excellent."

* * *

An: Well that was fun. It certainly was for me. For any of you who might have been living under a rock for the past few years, go ahead and watch Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find them, the Obscurial thing will make much more sense after that. Or you can just visit the HP Fandom site.  
As far as I know, meaning I don't have this shit planned out quite yet, we should be stepping away from the heavy amount of dialogue soon enough, and with action sequences, one can only expect to suffer going through uncharted descriptive combat scene territory.  
Alternatively,you can definitely check out Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. anytime you want, since that is literally the second best TV show to ever exist (after House M.D.) and I will most definitely not stop pushing it down your throats every chance I get. I also doesn't hurt that Trip and Mack might make an appearance much later on in the story.  
Also, please don't tell me you people expected me to name this chapter Of Stranger Things after last chapters title. That would be weird, and far too much of a copyright infringement...

Kirk out.


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